Poetry

 

And Still I Die

I am a Tree.

A tree that sits

in the placid woods dreaming of swimming in the sky,

Holding my branches to the stars and

flinging them on to

the earth like

millions of tears from God.

HATE CONSUMES ME.

I fall to the ground cowering, afraid of

the dreams that flow

towards me in the

wind.

Tears now fall

not from the sky

but from my eyes.

The roots below me cackle.

I'm loose.

I can't hold on any longer

and I fall to the earth.

I am still a tree.

But now I Die.